


Lightweight/Heavyweight

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk!Zavala, Drunkvala, F/M, Mild Innuendo, bad language, hawthorne really just wants to go to bed, trying to get a drunk person home is not an easy task
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:46:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Shaxx and Cayde petition one Suraya Hawthorne to retrieve the good Commander after a few pints too many. Zavala wakes up in a bed that's not his own with no idea what happened.





	1. Lightweight

“Wait. He’s drunk. Why is he drunk?”

The bar was rowdy and smelled of cheap beer and sweat. Suraya was really looking forward to going home to her little flat and getting a decent night of sleep, not answering seventy messages (collectively) from Cayde and Shaxx with an in-person visit.

“This moron started recalling the good ol’ days,” Shaxx motioned to Cayde who had the wherewithal to look scandalized as he sipped at his drink. “The next thing I know, Zavala’s putting away pints like he’s a different man and chatting up the Kinderguardians. He knows he doesn’t handle his alcohol well. I don’t pretend to understand why he did this.”

“Yeah,” Cayde said with a shrug. “And I didn’t even say anything bad. I jus’ heckled him for being old. I always do that, and I’m probably older than he is.” He held his hands out in a ‘plausible deniability’ stance.

The civilian huntress allowed her eyes to roll. “Okay. So why am I the one collecting him? You two seem to have a handle on the situation.”

“We are not babysitters, dear Suraya,” Shaxx bellows.

Her nostrils flare, and Cayde moves away instinctively. “Do I look like a babysitter? I’ve been running strikes since before dawn. The only thing I look like right now is tired.”

Both men shake their heads, clearly valuing their lives - even though they’re kind of expendable. “It-it’s not that you look like a babysitter,” Cayde says. “But you’re kind of our best chance to get him out of here before he gets too annihilated.”

“Oh?”

“There are several stages to the Zavala drunkenness spectrum,” Shaxx imparts to her, lowering his volume to the average human’s yell (it’s quiet for him). “First, he complains about drinking. Second, he drinks quickly and says he doesn’t actually hate drinking. Third, he becomes talkative. Fourth, handsy. Fifth, ho-”

“Okay, okay. Let’s pretend I buy this. What stage are we on?”

“We’re moving into handsy. He’s clapped at least seven new Titans on the back in the last twenty minutes,” Cayde supplies cheerfully. “We need him out of here before he becomes a puddle of needy goo, because stage six is the clingy-slash-depressed stage, and it only gets worse from there.”

“So dump it on Hawthorne, eh?”

“In the talkative phase,” Cayde says, grin on his face, “He might have mentioned how he really enjoyed working with you. A lot. And on repeat.”

“So?”

Shaxx wraps an arm around her. He smells like ale. “So, that means either he’s fucking you, or he would very much like to.”

“How much have you two been drinking?” She wears her defensiveness like armor and it shows.

“Not enough to miss that blush,” Cayde snaps back with a smirk. He pushes her away from them and in the direction of the Titan on the other side of the bar chatting with his subordinates. “Go get the good Commander, and take him home. Pretty sure he’ll let you have your way with him.”

She shakes her head. “When he’s sober, I’m going to tell him you suggested I take advantage of him.”

“Like that’ll surprise him. Just get him out of here before we’re stuck listening to him mope. It’s literally always about work and we’re here to get shitfaced.”

“You two owe me,” She says as Shaxx bellows something in the affirmative to Cayde’s shitfaced comment. The two clink glasses and chug. The bartender shakes his head and mutters something about how it ‘always starts like this and the next thing you know there’s Golden Guns and Fists of Havoc everywhere.’

Hawthorne crosses the bar easily, it’s busy but not quite standing room only. The majority of the Titans are packed into one corner, all of them still in armor - of course - and she easily spots his sparking white, red, and silver, gear even in the dim light.

“Evening, Guardians,” She calls cheerfully, leaning between Zavala and the female Titan beside him to take the half-empty mug from in front of him. “Having fun?” He looks up at her, and she can see the how small his pupils are. He smells like booze as well, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as it is on Shaxx. She knows Zavala’s a lightweight; he’s told her himself.

The table roars mightily as she manages to drink down the remainder of his drink in one go. Half of them are playing cards, the other half are engaging the Commander in riveting tales of Titan prowess. He seems to be enjoying himself.

“I need to borrow you for a minute,” She says to him, when the group is laughing at a new Guardian’s clumsiness. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“We’re in the middle of something,” He says, and it’s supposed to be a whisper but it comes out loudly. “This is a good story.”

She sighs. Waits a few more minutes, tries again. Similar result. Now he’s yelling amidst the stories about how in his hayday, he’d done things four times as impressive. It was becoming the standard Titan pissing contest. Enough was enough.

Finally, she sighs, and leans down to whisper in his ear. “Commander, you are going to get up and leave with me now. That’s an order.” She makes sure she speaks quietly enough for only him to hear. The result is that her lips and teeth are ghosting over the shell of his ear. She is absolutely not trying to rile him up, but the effect is immediate. He immediately excuses himself, standing quickly and with the slightest of staggers. It takes him a second to make his goodbyes.

She realizes, with only mild irritation that she’s going to have to lead him on if she’s going to get him out of here - and more importantly make it to bed - sometime tonight. She’s halfway across the bar, and when she turns to make sure he’s following, she gives him the come hither motion to make him pick up the pace.

The peanut gallery immediately starts catcalling, and Suraya flips both of them the the middle finger when Shaxx yells, “YESSSS, Guardian. Get it!” The call even comes with a fistpump.

She literally cannot go out to bars in this city because she’d get arrested for murder. But really, they’re so lucky he’s drunk, because she’s pretty sure sober-Zavala would literally rip Shaxx’s entrails out through his nostrils if the Crucible handler said this to sober-him in public. Drunk-Zavala has tunnel vision though, so they’re safe. For now.

She is going to be so loud tomorrow morning. Those two deserve to suffer.

They’re barely out into the street and he’s nudging her into an alley, pressing himself against her with no self control. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’re into me,” She says, when he’s kneading her ass with his palms, and mouthing at her chest through her shirt. She won’t deny that it’s attractive (like, really, really fucking hot, her brain corrects), but he’s so bombed. She’s got to get him back home pronto. She has not been drinking - that half pint was for show and she’s not a lightweight unlike some Titan she knows - so sex in an alley isn’t really on her to do list tonight.

“My place is closer,” She offers, not that he’s ever spent the night there before. The only nights they’ve spent together have been on work projects. No sleeping or cuddling. Hell, she’s kissed him like three times? She hopes it’s as clean as she remembers. Actually, she doesn’t care. This is all ridiculously inconvenient. He’ll have to make due.

He’s all but bucking against her, and she can admit that it makes her feel so powerful and desired that her exhausted post-work look can make him come undone. But really, the voice of reason says, she’d prefer this sober. She’s also relatively certain that if any part of his brain chooses to recall this, he’s going to be mortified.

“Zavala.”

He draws back at once, in a brief moment of clarity. She smiles crookedly up at him, slipping out from where she’s been pinned to the wall. “C'mon, let’s get out of here.” Her fingers curl around his wrist and she pulls him back into the road.

“Suraya-” It’s practically a whine. Traveler help her, maybe she could have sex in this alley. No. Stay on track, Suraya, she coaches herself. No sex in the alley. No sex at all, no matter how much either of them want it. He’s DRUNK. Not tipsy. Plastered. Shitfaced. Annihilated. She has to turn away from him to compose herself. She cannot even.

“I’m taking you home, Commander Drunkypants.”

He scoffs. “Drunkypants?” His eyes narrow, and she has to hold back her laugh or he’ll likely become belligerent. “I’m insulted.”

“No, you’re drunk.” She continues pulling him along. He’s protesting and she’s absolutely not strong enough to pull his dead weight across the city, especially with full armor on. “Can we please keep moving? I’ll promise not to call you drunkypants if you keep moving.”

“You c’n do better than that,” He says, just the slightest of slurs in his voice. She curses under her breath. Her flat isn’t far, maybe another fifteen minutes away. She’s got to get him there before he completely falls apart. Getting him to his own apartment would be career suicide for them both.

“I can, but you’re not giving me much to work with,” She taunts, even though he has absolutely tipped his entire hand. She’s got to motivate this man to get a move on and pronto. She puts her hands on her hips and juts them to the right. His eyes immediately follow. That horny bastard, she thinks. Maybe she can use this to her advantage. “Will a kiss motivate you, Guardian?” She does her best to purr it all sultry-like, but she’s not claiming to be a siren.

Not that it matters, because he’s practically keening and she’s pretty sure there’s no blood left in that bald head of his because it’s all run south. Traveler, is he easy. Alright, she tells herself, you’re doing great. Just kiss him and keep promising him more and hope he doesn’t puke on you when this all catches up with him.

Because it’s going to catch up with him. He’s stumbling, even with her grip on his wrist.

She crosses the distance between them and gives him a very riveting display of affection. Tongue, teeth, the whole shebang. He moans appreciatively and tries to circle his arms around her, but she grabs his other wrist and manages to hold him off. She pulls away from him and smirks.

“If you want more from where that came from, you’ll probably want to get me home.” She mentally crosses her fingers, since hers are preventing him from hauling her over his shoulder and giving in to both of their desire.

Seeing a man intoxicated should not make her feel so horny, but she really doesn’t have it in her to feel ashamed. She is going out of her way for him right now, she’s tired, and she’s really wanted him for months now. And it isn’t like she’s going to act on it - not now - but she absolutely plans to the second they’re both alone and sober. If this isn’t confirmation, nothing will be.

He takes the bait, almost dragging her forward. One track minded, she thinks, those Titan flaws are a doozy. “You might want to slow down,” She says softly, when he keeps marching towards the Tower. “There’s a quicker way to my flat if we go left here.”

She sees the change when he quickly redirects himself. She thinks for a second that he’s going down, but he corrects at the last second, instinct kicking in. Thank the Traveler. No more hand-holdy crap. She slows, ducking under his right arm, so that she can keep him walking straight and upright. He leans against her, hard.

“You’re heavy,” She says, looking over at him. “If you stop moving I’m gonna leave you in the street.”

“You wouldn’t.” His blue eyes are wide, and for someone so much older than her, he looks so devastatingly young in this moment.

“Try me.”

“I’m moving,” He says, though it’s a bit garbled. “H’w much long’r til your home?”

“Soon,” She says, and leads them to a staircase with beautiful Morrocan scrolling going up and around the archway, her arm slung tightly across his waist, slipping between plates of armor. “We’re almost there.”

It’s not the stairs that do him in, it’s the elevator that does. She’s important, and this particular building is built into the side of the Tower’s Bazaar, so naturally she’s closer to the top. The two minute ride forces him to stay still, and she can see him swaying. His eyes are closed.

She feels simultaneously like he deserves this and also like he’s precious and innocent and needs to be sheltered from the world. She hates that she’s so soft sometimes.The elevator dings and he doesn’t move. She stands blocking the door so that it doesn’t trap him in there. “You with me, soldier?”

He blinks open an eye and stumbles forward. She manages to catch him well enough, but he groans and mumbles something she can’t understand and she knows it’s all over. “Just a little further, okay?” She coaches him quietly, running a hand over his scalp. “You’re doing great.”

He leans into the touch, and she manages to haul him from the lift before it makes offensive noises because they’ve taken too long to get out. They’ve just got to make it to her door and it will all be-

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Fuck.

By some great miracle, she manages to get him both insider her flat and it’s bathroom before he starts revisiting the amount of ale he’s consumed this evening. She leaves him to it and returns to her front door - she’d left it open in her haste to get him into the apartment before the neighbers are exposed to the the solar system’s biggest lightweight.

She winces when he hiccups and heaves again, after several moments of shallow, heavy breathing. She gets him a glass of water and definitely some painkillers - she’s guessing here, but there’s definitely no chance his ghost is going to heal him for being a drunken idiot. She’s only met her a handful of times, but she is a serious, motherly partner who definitely takes no pity on fools.

Suraya goes into a closet and pulls out the softest flannel she can find, wetting it with lukewarm water in her kitchen before braving the trip to her bathroom. He’s braced over the toilet and it’s a tight fit, considering he never made it out of his armor, but he’s making due. She puts a hand on his back, pushing hard enough that he can feel it through the metal plating.

“How ya holding up?”

He groans.

She knees beside him and presses the cool, damp cloth against his forehead. “This was definitely not one of your smarter ideas.” He leans into her, and she braces herself to accept the whole of his weight because it comes. There’s no sound but harsh breathing for a few moments, before he begins to vomit again, and she stays put, rubbing his back as he dregs up what’s left. By the time he’s finished, he’s dry heaving, and she’s pretty certain there’s nothing left to throw up. He’s mumbling as he does, and she has to tip her ear closer to him to hear the litany of apologies to her and self-deprecating comments.

“I’m sorry,” He manages to say, a bit more coherently, but she shushes him with gentle fingers trailing down his temple.

“Think you got it all out of your system?”

He nods, barely.

“Okay. Lean on me. If you didn’t have the spins before, you definitely have them now.” It’s true, he does. There’s a split second in which she thinks they’re going to crack their heads against the wall of the shower stall, but they make it out and into her bedroom with only moderate difficulty.

He’s too far gone to look around at the minimalist offerings of the woman’s private rooms, the desk covered with maps in the corner, the white-wood dressers and pale blue and gray walls, or the perch with a sleeping falcon atop it beside the open window. She manages to get him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, feeding him two tablets and addressing him as a child when she tells him to only sip the water. He slurs something about knowing how to do this, but she ignores him, in lieu of sliding her fingers under the clasps of his armor.

“Suraya?” He whispers, as she manages to undo the clasps on both sides of his rib cage.

She kneels down in front of him, regarding him with amber eyes.

He reaches for her face and it’s a sad effort since his eyes are closed. He gets there eventually. “Thank you f’r taking care of me.”

She laughs, but it’s affectionate. “Of course, you big lug. I’ve got your back.” She tips his head to rest against her stomach as she stands, intent on removing his armor so he can rest easy. “Always.”

-/

When he wakes, it’s to a room that’s bright and unfamiliar. He scrubs a hand over his face and bites back a curse at the hollow pounding in his head. What in the Traveler’s name had he been thinking?

The telltale echo of his ghost his head is something like “you weren’t, that’s what,” and she did it purposely, because it always made his headache worse when he was hungover.

He looks over through squinted eyes to see armor stacked neatly on the floor. It isn’t stacked how he would have done it, so someone else did it. But the last thing he remembers, he was drinking with the new recruits and…

There’s a quiet, shrill call from across the room, complete with the slightest beating of wings. “Louis?”

Well, hell. He stares down at himself. He’s clearly in undergarments, and if that’s Louis - how many other falcons does he know - then he’s spent the night with Suraya Hawthorne, and he doesn’t remember any of it. Headache forgotten in his absolute panic - sleeping with coworkers, specifically coworkers for which he has feelings that are deeper than lust - he looks over to find the other half of the bed empty.

But it looks slept in.

This is a nightmare.

His Ghost blinks into view with a flurry of apathetic light and volume. “As it would seem, you’re late for your second task of the day. The first, you’ve missed in its entirety.” She moves closer to him with a whirl and twitch of her shell and her voice is cheerfully booming. He feels like he’s talking to a female version of Shaxx right now. “I suggested that Suraya leave you to the wolves, as you did absolutely wreck her bathroom with your inability to vomit into her toilet. She, however, took your meeting with Dead Orbit and is on her way to meet Cayde for strike duty now. I presume that’s because she would like to murder Cayde for dragging her out to pick you up last night, and heckling you both when you left together. We should really go watch. Sundance already informed me that he’s worse off than you right now, I asked her to record it for personal reasons.”

“Did you always talk this much?” He asks his partner with a tired grumble while he tries to figure out if he’s actually slept with her or not. He was pretty drunk, so hopefully not. It would only complicate things that are… already complicated.

She laughs. “Ha, ha. Someone has to remind you that what you did is stupid. Hawthorne is spoiling you. You fell asleep before she could even remove your codpiece, not that she’ll ever tell you the details. I took pity on her and transmatted it for you. You owe me.”

He blushes, harder than he can recall. Ever. Traveler take him.

“You enjoy this,” He growls at her and she laughs until he swipes at her, at which point she dissolves into motes of light. Louis trills a low, understanding cry, and Zavala looks at him. “Tell me about it. I’m never drinking again.”


	2. Heavyweight (Payback, Poncho-style)

“Please, Poncho please. Share with me. Pretty please? You brought two coffees and are gonna make me watch you drink both? You’re so meeeeeean.”

She ignores him, in lieu of pulling a bag out of her satchel. It’s breakfast. And not just any breakfast.

“Aww, come on! You’re really torturing me.” He crosses his arms and puts all his effort into pouting. “You must have gotten up extra early to make it to that bakery before you got here. Actually, you aren’t even supposed to be here-”

“Which, if I remember correctly, was your fault.”

“… and I wonder if it’s ‘cause you murdered Zavala or if he’s still blissed out from a night of- OW! Okay, okay, stop hitting me, I’ll behave!”

Suraya pulled out two delicious looking orange muffins, setting one in front of her before looking at the other, then back to the Hunter Vanguard, the grin on her face positively wicked.

Cayde sighed. “That muffin isn’t for me, either, is it?” She shook her head mock-sadly. “Y'know, I stand by my initial assessment of you. You are absolutely a Hunter. Mischievous little b-”

“I know you aren’t about to call me a bitch, Cayde-6.”

“Witch. I-I meant witch.”

She rolls her eyes. “Suuuuure you did. You’re lucky Louis isn’t around to peck out your optics.”

“Am I? It’d probably feel better than this headache that you could fix by giving me that coffee, but you won’t because you’re a meanie.”

“Normally, I would not interrupt a good dressing down of the Cayde-6 Unit. However, my insides are on fire. Please help.”

Cayde scoffed. “Failsafe, buddy! We’re friends. Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

The Golden Age AI scoffed right back, her voice dropping with the onset of her ‘other’ personality. “Yeah right. Girls rule, boys drool.”

“This is a sad, sad day for me,” Cayde says with a touch of the dramatic. “I don’t feel good and everyone is ganging up against me.”

“If you’d like, I know a couple songs I can sing for you while we wait for my Captain and their crew to arrive. They always cheered me up when I felt sad and lonely about my crew dying and leaving me alone for centuries.”

“Failsafe-”

“Poncho, no.”

Suraya gives him a borderline sadistic smirk.

“I think that-”

He’s whispering now, “Please, Poncho - Hawthorne, I’ll do anything, anything you want. My head is pounding already and she is a REALLY BAD-”

“-would make him feel better.”

“…singer.”

-/

“So, did you torture Shaxx as much as you tortured me?”

Hawthorne shrugs and continues typing out her report. “That’s none of your business.”

He pops another bite of the orange muffin into his mouth. She’d finally relented when the Exo’s sobbing to ‘just kill him already’ caused his vocal output to short and reboot several times in an attempt to repair itself. He’d taken the coffee in three swift swings, not caring that it was bitter or cold, just that it was caffeine and would break up the fog in his cranial circuitry. The muffin, however, was a delicacy he would enjoy. They were delicious, and the little old granny who ran the bakery only made them on certain days of the week.

“Did you get Zavala one of these?” He asks, mid-chew. “Is he a muffin guy? I always thought he was more of the homestyle breakfast type, myself.”

She rolls her eyes. I don’t know, take him out to breakfast and find out for yourself.” It comes out snarky, and she doesn’t take back her tone.

“Oh-kay, looks like I hit a sore spot.” Risking life and limb, he wraps an arm around her. “The way I see it, Poncho, is like this: you two are doing that dance people do when they like-like each other.”

The eye rolling intensifies. “What are you? Five?”

He throws his unoccupied arm out in a grandiose gesture, like he’s showing her a beautiful view, and not a half-rebuilt wall. “And Zavala - oh, Zavala - he’s beautifully obvious when he’s inebriated. But, assuming you took him back to your place - and I’ve got my sources, ya did - he’s going to withdraw hard when he wakes up in your bed with no idea how he got there.” He let’s her go with a thump on the back. “You’re gonna have to be forward, Poncho. He’s going to assume he’s blown it, but you and I know differently. I know that dark roast with two shots of espresso I just drank and this scrumptious muffin,” He holds it up like it’s perfection incarnate, “Were definitely not meant for little ‘ol me.”

“Cayde, are you seriously giving her relationship advice?” The pair looks up to see Warlock Vanguard coming down the stairs from the main hall. “Like you’re one to talk.”

Suraya looks like she’d like to melt into a puddle on the floor. “O-oh, h-hey, Ikora.”

“Come on, Ikora. You’ve drank with Zavala before. Drunkvala-” Hawthorne snorts, but quickly composes herself. “-can easily seal the deal. But sober Zavala - especially post-Drunkvala sober Zavala - always freezes.”

“Or assumes the worst.” Ikora joins them at the small worktable. “He’ll likely assume he’s ruined any chance of pursuing you-”

“Oh my stars,” The Clan Steward sighs, “Not you too? We’re adults, and I’m obviously not mad if I took all of his tasks for this morning.”

The two Vanguard exchange bemused looks.

“He will assume you to just be acting polite and doing your civic duty.”

“And there will absolutely be apology flowers.” Cayde bats his optics at her in a lovestruck expression. “With no sender info. He’s a total chicken when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Wait, wait, who said anything about this being a matter of the heart?”

Ikora laughs, and her tone is svelte and velvetine as she says, “The entire tower knows there is something going on. Secrets do not keep well in such a confined space.”

“And, like, the whole bar heard Shaxx yell, ‘YES,GUARDIAN! GET IT!’ When you guys left together last night. Soooooo, yeah.”

“You’ve been working on your Shaxx impersonation,” Ikora comments with a smirk. “It’s not half bad.”

Hawthorne is rubbing her forehead, and trying to ignore the twitch of her left eye. “Seriously, I hate you guys sometimes.”

The two Vanguards don’t argue with her. Instead, Ikora says, “By the way, have either of you been by the Crucible today? It seems someone has tampered with the sound system in Shaxx’s area. It’s currently playing the most horrendous song on repeat.”

All eyes turn to Suraya as Cayde says slyly, “Poncho. What did you do?”

She shrugs. “Nothing permanent.”

-/

Zavala does an impeccable job avoiding her for the remainder of the day. He’s out supervising new Titan drills when she goes to drop off her report paperwork, and when she gets back to her little office by the briefing room, there are absolutely apology flowers on her desk. With no note.

They’re cheery little wildflowers, and they remind her of the EDZ. He’s nothing if not thoughtful, but she’d really rather they discuss this before he tries to act like nothing has ever happened between them.

And also so things can actually start happening between them. He might not remember getting all frisky with her (or maybe he does, whatever, no harm no foul), but she absolutely cannot forget and would like for it to happen again with all parties either sober. She suspects that his libido may really rear its head when he’s drunk, but he’s got to have that hunger deep down in that straightlaced body somewhere when he’s not. She just needs to coax it out.

Fuck. She’s going to have to be forward, isn’t she?

(She is also one million percent not about to tell either Cayde or Ikora that they might be right.)

It takes him two whole days to be in the same room as her without taking the first possible exit. Three more for him to address her by her last name and damn if that doesn’t piss her off. And to top it off, he’s being so freaking polite - it’s the tone he uses with to negotiate with fucking Hideo - that it astonishes her.

The cherry on top is that Cayde and Ikora are giving her these little looks, like they know exactly what’s happening. He’s lucky the Clans need her, or else she’d be back at the Farm laughing it off with people who actually knew how to drink. Speaking of the Clans, she thought, pulling up her tablet with a furious series of tapping, there just so happened to be a clan meeting that both of them were required to attend. Tomorrow.

Typically, they went over the details together beforehand, and he just so happened to have some free time this evening, according to the Tower-wide calendar system. Deft fingers keyed in the meeting request and sent it. She knew he’d likely not accept it, and wasn’t surprised to get the declined notification with a message that they would have a few minutes to discuss things right before the Clan meeting a few moments after.

What she was surprised to get, however, was an encrypted message from his Ghost.

…With a suspicious door code, and instructions to be in Zavala’s office at least ten minutes before the meeting she wanted to have to start.

Huh. Well, at least his Ghost was on her side.

-/

In almost not-quite-full-panic-anxiety mode, Suraya was in the Commander’s office with fifteen minutes to spare. She was proud of herself for only creeping outside for another ten before to make sure the coast was clear.

She’d spent plenty of time in his office, and was well acquainted with the right side of the small couch and the crochet blanket draped over the back of it, as well as the small open air balcony that faced out above the courtyard. For a moment, she contemplates sitting at his desk in a show of power, but decides against it. That’s a play for another day when she’s trying to egg him on, not coax him into communicating.

When it’s been more than half an hour that she’s been waiting, she pulls the blanket over herself, the book she’d been reading still on the table next to her usual spot on the couch. She’s two chapters ahead of where she left off - in the midst of a very bland account of Osiris’s works - when the door swings open to reveal the man who’s been avoiding her for a week.

“Hawthorne?” He looks at her with something akin to panic and irritation.

“That’s me.”

“Why are you - how?”

She shrugs. “I won’t give up my methods.” Removing the blanket draped over her, she stands and stretches. “So, how are you?”

“Fine.” It’s clipped.

“Right. You keep telling yourself that.” She turns toward the balcony and walks to the sliding door, not opening or stepping through it. Her heart is beating hard. She is not good at this. “I’m not. Fine, that is.” She closes her eyes as she waits for him to react.

“What would you like me to do about it, Hawthorne?” His tone is businesslike.

She scoffs and turns around, clenching her fists. “Well, for one, you could call me Suraya, instead of acting like we’re strangers.”

“I..” He sets something down on his desk, some file. She gives him a solid ten seconds to say something, anything, and when he doesn’t, she forces herself to release her fists before her fingernails pierce her palms.

Two calming breaths after that, she quips, “Thanks for the flowers, by the way. Were those supposed to be my hint that ‘thanks but no thanks,’ you’re no longer interested?” Frustration isn’t the direction she’d wanted to go with, but the wheels are turning, and there’s no stopping them now. “Cayde and Ikora assured me they were ‘apology flowers,’” She air-quotes it with a scathing curl of her fingers, “But I’m not so sure. You haven’t said anything to me that insinuates that you have something to be sorry for - and that’s fine, because you didn’t. But now, now I’m pissed because you’re giving me the cold shoulder just when I thought you just might have feelings for me!”

By the time she’s done with her tirade, her shouting is loud enough to be heard in the hallway outside his office, and she can absolutely feel the tears ready to blur her vision. She crosses her arms in more of a self-protection gesture, and looks up at him. Her lip trembles.

He steps around his desk, coming toward her, his eyes really wide with panic now. “Fuck,” He curses, and it sounds strange coming from his lips. “Suraya, don’t cry.”

“Saying that is only going to make me cry more, you asshole.” She blinks and the tears brimming overflow down tattooed cheeks. He attempts to reach for her, but she takes a step back. “Talk.”

“What would you like me to say?” He rubs the back of his head instead and drops onto the couch she had just been sitting on. “I made a mistake. I don’t even know how you ended up coming to get me, or how we even got back to your apartment. I have no idea what I did, or could have done.”

“And you didn’t think: Wow, maybe I should talk to her? I could have told you what happened.” She laughs bitterly and his shoulders tense ever so slightly in physical discomfort at the sharp sound. “Let me help you out: Cayde and Shaxx begged me to come get you. I did. You were drunk. I got you to my house, you got sick, I tucked you into bed. The next day, I tortured Cayde and Shaxx for their commentary - you’re welcome - and took some of your meetings so you could sleep it off. Real exciting stuff.”

He looked away and lifted a rather intricate paperweight from his desk, turning it over several times in his hand before setting it back where it was. Fidgeting. The Commander was fidgeting. If she wasn’t so inconceivably frustrated with him, she would have laughed. She almost felt bad, but he kind of deserved this.

Mostly.

He sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“This shouldn’t be a question, Zavala. I’ve only ever wanted one thing. You.”

He cocks his head as she tightens her grip on herself. “My behavior didn’t put you off?” He questions softly.

“Not even a little,” She replied. “It was actually endearing.”

He stands up, approaching her. “I was out of my mind. I know how I conduct myself when I am heavily intoxicated especially when I am… smitten. I can only imagine I came onto you.”

She nods. He rears back, like a startled deer. She sighs. Forward it was. Cayde and Ikora knew what they were talking about, apparently. “Want me to tell you how?”

There’s a wince, and he ducks his head, but nods.

Suraya drops her crossed arms and stands so that she’s directly to his left, and whispers hotly in his ear. “I started it. This is how I got you out of the bar,” She whispers, teeth nudging the soft cartilage as she speaks. It has the same effect as it did before. He shivers and his eyes fall closed. “I stalked out and gave you a little wave, and you followed me like we were playing cat and mouse.”

He blinks his eyes open and she’s standing in front of him. “The second we were outside, you were dragging me into an alley,” She presses herself up against him, arms coming up and around his neck. “Kissing me until I saw stars.” She closes her eyes as she leans in almost to his lips. “And the sounds you made,” The sound in her throat is almost primal. She has no idea how the hell she’s made it, but this isn’t the time for that. “You wanted to fuck me in the alley,” She says, breathing heavier against his lips. “I almost let you.”

She steps back from him, and he blinks several times, trance broken. “You would have let me-”

“If you were more sober than drunk, absolutely.” The slightest quirk of her lips confirms that she’s not just saying it, either. “By the time I, uh, motivated you to get a move on, you were so far gone you couldn’t have if you had remembered you wanted to. The last few blocks were rough. You’re heavy.”

“That’s… vaguely familiar.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s the long and short of it. Now you know.”

He nods. “I suppose I do.”

“So,” She looks everywhere but his face. “Do I have to get you drunk again to move things along or…?”

His eyes narrow on her. She shrugs as he says, “I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Taking the two steps to put them toe to toe and kissing her, hard.

He remembers every glorious detail in the morning, when Suraya is draped beside him, warm, stripped bare, and they are both very, very sated.


End file.
